


your form of subtlety

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baroque, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baroque AU: Grantaire is a painter, and Enjolras decides to become his patron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your form of subtlety

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Les Mis Across History](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/les+mis+across+history) which is a thing that is happening on tumblr over this weekend!

It's the composition that first draws Enjolras' eye to the painting. It's stunningly simple, given its depth. It's a painting of Eve, apple in her hand, looking up at the snake. Between its scaled coils, it holds more. A flint, a knife, a wheel, a cup; it holds _knowledge_ and this is what Eve is reaching for. This is what she's punished for.

He lingers in front of it for more time than he's ever given to any other painting in any of the exhibits he's been dragged out to see. It's shoved into a small corner, clearly barely having made it into this showing. Enjolras can't think of why, admiring the brushwork, the detail that has gone into every individual scale, the way they gleam under some unseen light source from above.

"I wish to buy this," he says to the one in charge of the exhibit. "And I wish to speak to the artist."

The second part is met with a laugh. "You'll have little luck there, I'm afraid. This one isn't particularly interested in meeting people."

Enjolras frowns. "Well, I can't imagine how he must sell his art, then."

"This is the first that he's managed to exhibit. It's the first anyone's bought."

Enjolras doesn't particularly like being told _no_.

"At least give me his name so that I may find him. Then, he can decide whether or not he wishes to see me."

Which is how, two days later, he finds Grantaire.

He lives in a small apartment, and nearly slams the door in Enjolras' face before he pauses and reconsiders.

"I was warned there was some rich boy with nothing better to do than hunt down painters who have no time or interest in talking." Grantaire rubs his chin. "They didn't say anything about it being _you_."

"You've heard of me?" Enjolras asks with mild surprise.

Grantaire laughs, pushing the door open and walking further in—it's as much of an invitation as Enjolras is going to get—and picks up a bottle sitting by an easel, taking a long gulp from it. "Who hasn't? You're out on the streets picking fights every other day. Half the people I know go out of their way to avoid you so they can go about their days undisturbed. The other half like what you're doing."

"And you?" Enjolras asks, raising an eyebrow.

"You bought my art," Grantaire replies with a shrug. "It's in my best interest to think very highly of you."

"I would like you better if you were honest," Enjolras tells him, and Grantaire laughs at that.

"Well, if that's what you want. I don't think you're achieving anything."

Enjolras frowns at that. Grantaire grabs another bottle and an empty cup, pouring him some wine with a smile.

"You asked."

"And I disagree. I'm spreading my message. For every speech I give in public—"

"You make more enemies who are determined to silence you," Grantaire finishes. "Besides, this isn't about awareness, it's about _change_. How much of that have you seen?"

"We cannot have one without the other," Enjolras replies patiently. "Once people are aware—"

"And how many people need to be aware before something actually happens?" Grantaire asks.

Enjolras sighs with frustration. "It's not that easy."

"No, I suppose nothing ever is," Grantaire agrees. His lips quirk into a self-deprecating smile. "So, now that I've invited you into my house and argued with you, what did you want to see me about?"

"Your painting," Enjolras says. "It caught my attention because of the message you painted into it."

"It was just yet another painting to make the church happy," Grantaire says, but the slight curve to his lips belies his words, and shows how pleased he is that Enjolras picked up on it.

" I'm sure that pleasing the church is your primary motivation in life. Just like all of the other good drones of God."

"My main motivation is to please myself," Grantaire replies, wearing a full-blown smile now. "And if it interests me, pleasing others. Do you make it a habit of debating God with strangers? Though I do suppose we've already shared some wine and an argument."

"Only when I'm curious about what they might say."

"I'll choose to be flattered by that." Grantaire takes another gulp of wine, pausing to think before he says, "I believe that God… that _religion_ is like armour. It doesn't fit everyone. Some force it to fit them and others… well, some of the others are foolish enough to pick fights with no armour at all, aren't they?"

"And you?"

"Really, now. I doubt that you would have gone to all of this effort to speak to me if you did not already know. I have no love for the church. I am not particularly pleased about the fact that they've sunk their claws into every part of society."

"They have far too much power."

"Calm down, Enjolras. This is not one of your protests." Grantaire's brows draw together. "Nor am I interested in _joining_ any of them. I prefer a certain degree of subtlety to the way I present my opinions."

"By drinking wine and painting," Enjolras mutters. "How's that working out for you?"

"Considering I just sold a painting not long ago? Pretty well, actually." Grantaire lifts his bottle to his lips. "I don't need very much more than this."

"Are you happy?"

"As happy as a drunk painter can be," Grantaire replies, and Enjolras recognises it for the non-answer that it is.

"You need a patron." Enjolras can see the precise moment that Grantaire starts paying attention. "And your art would be wasted on someone who doesn't understand it."

"Not like you," Grantaire says and despite the lightly mocking tone, Enjolras can see how excited he is at the prospect. "But if you attached your name to mine, I'm not so certain that my art would be quite as subtle any more."

"Imagine the confusion it would cause to those who take your art at face value."

_That_ brings a grin to Grantaire's face. "I do like that thought."

"I will fund you," Enjolras says. "My father seems to be of the opinion that I could do with more _high class_ pursuits. I'm more than happy to use his money to keep you painting."

"And what do you want me to paint?" Grantaire asks.

Enjolras responds with a shrug. "Whatever you like."

«·»

For the first month or so, Grantaire's life remains wholly unchanged. He has more money to fall back on but for the most part, he is a man of simple tastes. The quality of his wine improves—a fact that Bahorel and Feuilly comment on with great approval—but he does not spend more money than he needs to. There is no point in moving to a bigger house when he has a perfect understanding of the way the light filters in through his windows, knowing what times of the day are best for him to paint.

Then Enjolras begins to visit. They're just short visits to begin with, Enjolras checking up on Grantaire as he works, but the longer that Enjolras stays, the more they tend to argue.

Grantaire isn't quite sure why, but this only leads to Enjolras spending even longer at his apartment. Not that Grantaire minds, when it means that it keeps Enjolras busy, away from the streets and away from his protests. They talk often, sometimes lapsing into silence while Grantaire works. He is painting on a large canvas, each figure as large as a living person. The painting he's currently working on is two people; a man on his knees and an angel leaning over him.

Try as he might, Grantaire can't quite stop himself from giving the angel some of Enjolras' features. He hopes that it's mostly subtle, using the shape of Enjolras' nose, the curve of his lips. The angel's hair is blond, but he makes it longer, paler to the point that it's almost white, and leaves it as that.

When he turns around to look at Enjolras, he's leaning back against the couch with his arms folded across his chest and an odd look on his face.

"Problem, Enjolras?"

"As much as I admire the painting itself…" Enjolras trails off, clearing his throat quietly. Grantaire notices that the tips of his ears are a little red. "I'm just wondering how it will be received by the rest of society."

Grantaire smiles at that. The way the angel is stroking the man's lips, and the look of reverence in the man's eyes, leave little doubt as to what is actually happening between the two. Lifting his finger to the painting, Grantaire traces the space where he is yet to paint the angel's wings. "People won't even think twice when it's an angel."

Enjolras laughs, quiet and low. "Oh, you are _clever_."

That makes Grantaire's stomach do a strange flip and he turns back to his painting before Enjolras can notice. His attraction to Enjolras is by no means new to him; he's been attracted to the man since before they even met, since he was little more than a cautionary tale, blond hair and bright red jacket, willing to stand up to the church, tolerated only because of his family's influence.

Grantaire wonders if Enjolras realises how precarious a position he is in, how easy it would be for his family to cut their losses, to cut him off and save themselves the embarrassment. Experience has taught Grantaire that if he pushes hard enough, the ground just might disappear from beneath him. Part of the attraction lies in the fact that he's certain that Enjolras knows, and that he doesn't _care_.

He supposes that he should be worried about it; his own livelihood is directly related to Enjolras' after all, but Grantaire knows that it won't be a pleasant conversation if he brings it up. Enjolras' approval is a difficult thing to come by and Grantaire has been receiving so much of it lately that he's drunk on it. He doesn't particularly want to risk losing it.

He'll just have to enjoy this while it lasts.

«·»

Enjolras meets Bahorel in the middle of a fist-fight. One of his public speeches has turned violent and Enjolras feels a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back from a fist flying in his direction.

"Are you Enjolras?"

He can only nod, and then the man briefly lets go of him to pick one of the attackers up and bodily throw him to the ground before turning back to Enjolras. "I'm Bahorel. A friend of R's. This way."

Enjolras is confused, not quite making the connection until he recognises the streets that lead to Grantaire's apartment. Bahorel knocks with one hand, holding the back of Enjolras' jacket with the other.

"Bahorel? _Enjolras_?" Grantaire immediately opens the door wider. "What happened?"

"Found him in a brawl with some of the church boys," Bahorel says, pushing Enjolras further inside. "Recognised him from the times I've seen him with you. Thought I'd help him out."

Grantaire sighs at Enjolras' split lip, bruised cheek and bloody knuckles. "Thanks. Can you get that bowl for me? There should be a clean cloth on that table over there."

"This is unnecessary," Enjolras says as Bahorel makes him sit down on the seat in front of Grantaire. "My best friend is studying to become a doctor―"

"Of course he is," Grantaire snorts derisively. "But you're on the wrong side of the town for that. Sit still, I've patched Bahorel up after brawls plenty of times before. I don't need to be a doctor."

Grantaire's hands are gentle as he wipes the blood off Enjolras' face. Bahorel leaves with a nod to Grantaire and Enjolras does his best to sit still, unsure of what to say when Grantaire is frowning so deeply.

It's Grantaire who speaks first, when he's dabbing the blood away from Enjolras' lower lip. "I don't understand why you feel the need to do this."

"They were asking me to leave when I was perfectly within my rights to stay where I was and continue speaking. I would not be setting a good example for the people if I allowed them to bully me until I relented."

Grantaire swears under his breath. "You could have gotten yourself seriously hurt. If you aren't careful, you're going to get yourself _killed_. This isn't helping your cause at all, Enjolras. The more you fight, the easier it will be for them to reduce your protests to nothing _but_ the fights, and all the meaning behind what you're doing will be lost. There are quieter, subtler ways of protesting. Not that you're particularly good at being subtle."

Enjolras frowns as Grantaire takes his hand, turning it over and gently wiping his knuckles. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Look at you," Grantaire says simply. "You command attention no matter where you go. You _demand_ it. I've seen you out in public; you make people pay attention to you whether they want to or not. You can inspire them, to brave, or stupid, or _both_. You might be going about it all wrong, but you make people want to be the best that they can."

"Do I?" Enjolras asks curiously.

Grantaire's gaze drops to where he has Enjolras' hand in both of his, and lets go, wetting his cloth, turning Enjolras' other hand over. "You must have noticed it yourself."

"Is that how I make you feel?"

Grantaire's hand stills for a moment, before he resumes cleaning Enjolras' knuckles. "You make me feel a great many things, Enjolras. The foremost of which right now is frustration."

"Frustration," Enjolras repeats, but Grantaire simply shakes his head and refuses to explain any further. Enjolras doesn't push, allowing Grantaire to bandage his wounds.

"You can stay if you want," Grantaire tells him once he's done, getting to his feet and wandering over to the other end of the room, where he paints. "I'm working on my next painting."

"Can I see?" Enjolras asks, following Grantaire.

"I'm painting Orestes." Grantaire picks up his brush, not yet dipping it in any paint as he casts a critical eye over what he has painted so far. The top half of the painting is complete and as Enjolras looks at Orestes' face, he recognises his own features. They have matching stern expressions, blond curls and blue eyes. For all of Grantaire's talk for subtlety, he has been doing the exact opposite.

"If this is Orestes," Enjolras says quietly, taking a step closer to Grantaire. "Then tell me, where is Pylades?"

Grantaire huffs out a quiet laugh and reaches towards the painting, running his thumb over the outline of Orestes' feet. "Here."

"I would not have him so far from reach." Enjolras reaches out to touch Grantaire's shoulder, gently turning him around. "I would not have him think that this is where he belongs."

"Then where?"

Enjolras pulls him closer, until their noses are brushing against each other. "What do you think?"

Grantaire's smile says enough, even as he rocks back on his heels and says, "People will talk."

"This is _your_ form of subtlety, isn't it? Doing as you please, regardless of whether the rest of the world will approve." Enjolras' fingers curl at the back of Grantaire's neck. "Let them talk."

It isn't really quite so simple, and they both know that. When they kiss each other, however, Enjolras decides that he can think about that later. All he really cares about right now is this.


End file.
